My Brother's Keeper
by sekdaniels
Summary: No one should ever have to choose one brother over another. George Weasley is fighting to make sure he doesn't have to do just that. Written for Round 9 of the QLFC.


Author's Note: Written for Round 9 of the QLFC

Team: Pride of Portree

Position: Beater 1

Beater 1 Prompt: Gear Up!: Equipment: Beater's Bat – write about a Bully

Prompts Used:

9 (image)  .  (chess set),

12 (dialogue) "If I was a foot taller, would it have made a difference?", 14 (colour) lime green

Word Count (excluding Author's Note): 2768

*In the interest of clarity, it is nowhere specifically stated that first year students at Hogwarts cannot actually play Quidditch; only that they are not allowed brooms of their own. Harry Potter himself plays as a first year student, although his try-out might've been less than conventional since he was brought to Oliver Wood by Prof. McGonagall herself.

Rowling then presents first years as part of the Gryffindor trials with Harry as Captain in the Half-Blood Prince. Since there is no specific prohibition against it, I am considering it cannon for the purposes of this story.

 **My Brother's Keeper**

"If I was a foot taller, would it have made a difference?" Ron wondered as he tenderly touched the growing goose egg on his head.

Pulling back a tuft of hair ever so slightly, he leaned into the mirror to look at the deepening bruise that was beginning to take shape around the lump just under his hairline. He winced. Fred wasn't the worst brother a bloke could have, but when his temper got the best of him… Ron was looking at yet another result of that temper as he ran cold water into the bathroom sink and soaked a flannel.

A few years ago, he would have cried to his mum and she would be standing over the sink, washing his tears away and fussing after his bumps and bruises, but no longer. The next beating was always worse after Ron tattled on Fred; he'd learned that at least. No, he took his licks stoically now, and he kept the welts hidden as best he could. To be honest, Ron was grateful he wasn't taller. He'd have ended up with broken ribs instead of a lumpy head. It didn't seem like a better alternative.

"Wotcher, Ron?" George peeked his head into the bathroom they all shared on the top floor of the Burrow. Ron cut his eyes toward his older brother and grunted in return. George knew what he was up against. What was the point in his checking up now, after the fact? It's not as if George wasn't there when Fred cracked him over his head with his Beater's Bat.

George skulked into the bathroom and took a seat on the loo. He looked almost as awful as Ron felt. Almost. Ron took the cloth off his forehead and dipped it back into the cool water in the stoppered sink.

"Don't say it, George," Ron said, not looking at him. He placed the cloth back on his forehead. He wanted to sit; he was feeling a bit queasy, but there was nowhere to go now that George had come in. Ron propped himself up against the sink and leaned his head directly into the mirror.

He closed his eyes.

"You know he doesn't really mean it!" George almost pleaded into the growing silence.

"My head says otherwise," Ron retorted, his eyes remaining closed. He wasn't even angry anymore. Just exhausted.

He dipped his cloth back in the water, but it was already growing warm. Ron ran the tap again. It would be more efficient to just cool the cloth with a spell, but that option wasn't allowed him as an underage wizard; and since performing magic would draw attention well… Ron just waited as he ran fresh water into the basin.

The best time Ron had had in the past year was the three or so months Fred and George had both been gone, during their first term at Hogwarts. He was jealous, for sure. He couldn't wait to start his magical education, but for the first time in his young life, he wasn't so sure he wanted to be sorted into Gryffindor. It would mean even more unstructured, unmonitored time with his brothers. In particular, Fred.

"I think he was just trying to —"

"Shut it!" Ron shouted at his brother. "Just leave me alone, alright?!"

He stormed out of the tiny bathroom, crossing the hall to his own room and slamming the door.

At least he had _one_ space he could call his own.

Christmas break couldn't have been more dismal for George Weasley. His twin's foul mood continued through most of holiday. Nothing had been the same since they failed to make the Quidditch team the previous autumn, even though they both knew it was basically impossible in their first year.

From there on in, all Fred wanted to do with his free time was practice his skills and take his growing anger out on someone.

George had noticed that Fred had been especially vicious with their younger brother, Ronald, for some time now, but he could not seem to figure out why.

The three of them, being just less than two years apart, had flown together since Ron was barely out of nappies. By the time the twins were eight, they were all Quidditch-mad and did little more than try to emulate their favorite player's signature moves in their spare time. Ron took some coaching with the flying part, but once he had his seat, his Quidditch skills grew by leaps and bounds. It had only been about a year ago when George had noticed that Ron was easily keeping pace with them both when playing the Beater position, despite expressing more of an interest in playing Keeper.

George had encouraged his brother, recognizing his talent and taking pride in having been a part of developing it.

Fred, on the other hand, had grown sullen and surly. He went out of his way to insult Ron and, eventually, started making every effort to take him off his broom. Somewhere in the summer before they left, Fred got his hands on an actual regulation Beater's Bat. At that point, Fred's aggression became an out-and-out assault on their younger sibling.

Fred started targeting the smaller and significantly less-developed Weasley with body blows and flying techniques specifically deployed to compromise Ron's stability on his broomstick. More than once, Ron wobbled dangerously close to falling at a height that would have truly hurt him had he lost his seat. George would circle around and scream at Fred, but his twin only shrugged him off.

"All in good fun," he'd call out. Or "All's fair in love and Quidditch!" before flying off with his bat at the ready.

When George had tried to confront him about it, Fred accused him of overreacting.

"When did you become such an old fart?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

Or worse yet, he'd just roll over in his bed and ignore George entirely. The first time in their whole existence that they felt separate. The first time George felt alone.

It had to stop.

 _What am I going to do?_

Two days before the end of break found George and Ron tucked into a corner of the house near the fireplace engaged in an intense game of Muggle chess. The blazing fire only enhanced the richness and warmth of the two-toned maple wood set they were using. George had found it among their father's collection of Muggle novelties in his workshop, and had received enthusiastic permission to borrow it. Chess engaged a need for strategy and forethought that most of the Weasley clan had thought beyond the twins; perhaps more for a "thinker" like Percy. Of course, Ron and George both knew that Percy was much too stuck up to learn a Muggle game. Instead, they reveled in the quiet oversight they enjoyed as the snow piled up just outside the window near their niche.

However, all tranquility died as soon as Fred stormed into the room like a thundercloud.

"Come on then, George," he started as if Ron wasn't there. "We need to get out there. If we want to build our skills, we play, rain or shine. Grab your broom."

"Piss off," George answered. "I'm in the middle of this game with Ron."

Fred walked over and cleared the board with a single swipe of his arm. When he was done, he placed his hand on Ron's chest and paused to look back at George; then he pushed his younger brother to the floor, too.

"Looks like you're done to me," Fred said with a smug smile on this face.

" _What_ is your problem, Fred?!" George yelled, jumping out of his seat.

"What is _your_ problem?" Fred snapped back, poking his finger into George's chest. "I'm trying to make the Gryffindor team next year, mate. What are you doing besides coddling our _baby_ brother?" He sneered over at Ron who was still trying to gather himself up off the floor.

"I'm learning patience and strategy," George answered, pushing Fred's hand away. "And spending time with my brother."

"Yeah, well I'm the brother you share a birthday with. I'm pretty sure that means I take precedence," Fred shot back.

"No. You don't," George answered. "Especially not when you're being a right tosser!" George felt rather than saw Ron slide away toward a corner. The twins fought all the time; it was part of how they communicated. This, however, was different.

George rose from the table slowly and took stock of his brother. Fred stood up to face him.

Fred had been the leader since the minute they were born, and until now, George had been comfortable with that. Sure, George was used to feeling frustrated and angry with Fred; that was a normal occurrence between the two.

But lately, it was George who couldn't sleep at night when Fred stole out into the halls at Hogwarts. And George who looked over his shoulder constantly at the glares they would get from the Slytherin tables at yet another prank that Fred had pulled.

No, Fred's nature had been getting darker for months now. His motivations were less fun, more sinister, and George knew it. He had known it the other day when he clobbered Ron over the head, too. And he could no longer be party to it.

Tonight, for the first time, all George felt was pure rage.

"You going to _do_ something, _little brother_?" Fred laughed as he turned from the ruin of the glossy wooden chess pieces and started to walk away. He liked to emphasize that he was older when it suited him most. He wasn't concerned with George at all. It was why he had the audacity to turn his back on his younger sibling and laugh.

It was also why he never saw the punch coming till it was too late.

In all honesty, George didn't either.

It was only as he reached out to grab Fred's shoulder and turn him back around that George realized his fist was already balled up. Fred tried to jerk out of George's grip and ended up losing his balance.

"Oy! What gives, you pra—" Fred yelled as he swung back around.

With a meaty THWACK, George's fist slammed into Fred's face.

It was almost as satisfyingly solid a sound as Fred's bat had made when it had been deployed against Ron's skull.

George stumbled forward, trying to catch his breath. It felt like ages had passed, even though the whole thing had probably taken less than a minute.

"Merlin's beard, George," Ron whispered from his corner. Fred was sprawled out on the floor, cradling his jaw. The sound of frantic footsteps were growing louder.

"What in the world—"

"Fred!"

"What is going on in here?!" Arthur Weasley's booming question cut through the din and the room went silent. Arthur rarely used that tone of voice, so when he did, everyone knew it was serious.

Fred only pointed silently at his twin, his hand cradling his face, eyes wide with shock. George stood stock still, his breathing heavy and his face flushed as he continued to look down onto his brother's prone form.

Arthur, sensing that more than tension hung in the cramped space between the boys, gently placed a hand on George's shoulder, easing himself into the younger twin's line of sight. That simple movement broke the spell, and George looked away from Fred, coming back into the moment.

"I—I hit him," he stammered.

"I've gathered that," Arthur replied, with more composure than George expected him to have, given the circumstances. Molly had already bundled Fred up and off into the kitchen to get ice on his face. Ron was back on his feet and looked to be moving for the stairs.

"Not so fast, you," Arthur shot over his shoulder. "Have a seat," he motioned to a chair with his chin at Ron and turned his attention back to George. Ron slumped down and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Why, Georgie?" he asked, his voice soft and soothing. "Why did you hit Fred?"

"He deserved it," was all George said. He was still dazed, that much was clear.

"Why don't you have a seat, and we'll talk it through."

Arthur steered George onto the sofa and situated himself there as well. "Ronald, why don't you start?"

"Me?" Ron asked, alarmed. He was not trying to make matters worse, but he could also hear in his father's voice that no nonsense was going to be tolerated. He swallowed hard.

"Well, um—so me and George were playing chess with your Muggle set, like we asked to," Ron stumbled.

"Do try to be quick about it, yes?" Arthur prodded.

"Well, sure. Right. Yeah—"

" _Ronald._ " Arthur raised his voice. Ron audibly gulped.

"We were playing and Fred came down and knocked over the whole board." Ron raced to get everything out before he had time to think.

"And you," George added. "He pushed you over in the process," he said, starting at Ron. It was the first time he'd spoken in a full sentence since the whole incident started.

"Pushed Ron over?" Arthur asked, confused.

"Purposefully," George said, barely audibly. He looked up into his father's face for the first time since it had all transpired. "He's been doing it for months. Maybe longer."

"Doing _what_ , exactly, George?"

"Hurting Ron."

Arthur looked over at his youngest son and Ron's eyes dropped down to stare at the floor. He sank back into the cushions of the couch with a look of horror and bewilderment on his face.

Just then, a wailing sound brought them all out of their own reveries.

"For the love of—Molly, _what_ is going on in there?!" Arthur jumped up and started to cross into the kitchen when a bruised and tearful Fred plowed into him.

"Sorry, Da," he blubbered as he pushed back away from the bulk of his father. "I just…I gotta talk to my brothers…I'm… I'm so, so sorry…" Fred broke down into another wave of tears in his father's arms. The Weasley patriarch could only stand there, dumbfounded, and look over his son's shoulder at his wife who stood in their kitchen shaking her head.

"I think George might've finally knocked some sense into that one," was all she said by way of reply.

In the end, Fred admitted to harboring an intense jealousy of Ron's talent; one that had become all consuming. All he could see was how skilled his younger sibling was growing to be and it made him feel inadequate.

"But you fly so much faster than I do!" Ron offered in confusion.

"Yeah, for _now_ ," Fred answered, "but for how long? You are already flying as high as George and I do. You are starting to develop some real speed. And you're two years younger!"

Ron's eyes went wide. He had no idea that Fred was even watching him at all, much less _admiring_ him.

"You have time to grow yet, too," he said. "Why, I bet you'll be as big and strong as Josef Wronski in a few years!" Fred stopped and shook his head. "I'm just a jealous git. A real sodding wanker. I bet I'm full of so much envy my blood is lime green!" Fred slid into a chair next to Ron looking wrung out. They all sat in silence for a few moments.

"Can you forgive me?" Fred finally asked. When Ron looked up at him, he saw that Fred wasn't looking in his direction, but rather at George. The twins sat looking at each other in silence. Then George looked at Ron.

"Can you?"

Things were different after that. George and Ron grew close. The younger twin took pride in being his little brother's confidante and friend. They enjoyed more than their fair share of mischief together, and with Fred as a constant companion in jokes, pranks and general devilry.

When Ron joined the twins at Hogwarts, and then Ginny, too, it was easy to see that the Weasley children were a tight-knit group. Happy, supportive and fun-loving; the Gryffindors worked well together — on and off the pitch — and when there was conflict, they managed themselves. Above all, they loved one another and it showed to all who knew them.

As for Fred, whenever he felt his anger rising, he would think back to that cold winter's day and always be grateful that when he needed it most, his brother was there — even if only to crack him one across the face.


End file.
